The Marauder's Adventures: Year One
by the elsinatr
Summary: -"Who are you?" the boy with dark hair looks at me curiously. I'll never forget how we met. I decided to pull my first prank at Hogwarts that day. I knew at that moment we would be inseperable. "I'm James Potter." I guess Hogwarts isn't so bad after all.
1. The Starting Point

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marauders sadly...*sobs uncontrollably*

A/N.: I know I've been not updating some of my stories for a while, but I just want more reviews for them that's why I don't update them. I hope you guys like this story, after all you want another Harry Potter story, right? Well I love this story!

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The Marauders' Adventures: Year One

I'm hanging on,  
Here until I'm gone.  
I'm right where I belong,  
Just hanging on...

~Foo Fighters, February Stars

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**1.**

My name is James Potter and I am 11.

When a little kid looks at his parents, he only sees the love inside them and then he's happy. He doesn't notice the raised voices, the telepathic stares they give each other or the quiet silence between meals. He only remembers the trips to the park, the first time on a broomstick and making tree-shaped cookies for christmas.

But when you get older and you are a real mess of things, new discoveries, brilliant adventures, big dreams, going everywhere hoping that everything is okay and getting disappointed, it's no wonder I couldn't see the love inside my parents. It appears to be there, sometimes, and then it's gone.

**2.**

I first noticed things were going wrong when Father was shouting at Mother about the cottage in Wales. Father never raises his voice. I'm sure it was the cottage in Wales because I had my ear pressed against the door, praying that he'd see sense. For some reason, the cottage in Wales wasn't important anymore to him and Father thought we could sell it. Mother was disagreeing over it. I could hear her slamming the pot over the sink. I've noticed she gets angry easily.

I started nodding off after that and they must have checked up on me because I found myself in bed, the covers tucked in. So now I don't know what's going to happen to the cottage in Wales.

But that morning, Mother gave me pancakes and cereal and said, "James. Do you remember the cottage in Wales?"

First thing I do, I keep my tone even. "Yes," I replied between spoonfuls of oats and strawberries. When something's wrong, Mother always cooks a hearty breakfast for the family. I've started to notice the pattern now.

"Well," she says briskly, getting up and flicking her wand towards the sink. It fills up to the brim with water and soap. She heaves a little sigh and flicks her wand again. The water level goes down. "Your Father and I are thinking of selling it. Are you fine with that?"

Now before I go any further, I'd like to point out that particular sentence. When my parents make a decision, my Mother always uses the words, "Your Father and I are thinking....Are you fine with that?" It isn't for me to make an opinion on. I've only been to the cottage twice in my life. Parents feel guilty when they raise their voices, so I might as well make Mother happy.

"Yes, Mother," I reply back, polite as can be.

Yes, this is the pattern of my life now.

So, you can see why I resort to pranks.

It's because I want others to laugh, even when my household is silent.

I want others to accept me, like how my Mother includes me in family choices.

But most of all, it's a good stress reliever and it makes me well-known in the village.

I live in Godric's Hollow, a nice little village, mainly wizarding, with a huge graveyard full of wizarding family and names. You could spend your life there, memorizing each tombstone and memorial plaque. And then you join them. Life is like that. Most of the time I hang out near the house of Bathilda Bagshot. She's nice, and I like to think that she's my grandmother. Mother and Father don't visit my Grandmama and Grandpapa nearly as much as I would like.

Father has his business in the Ministry for Magic and Mother helps Madam Malkins every Saturday. The only time they aren't in the house are on Saturdays, so they usually send me to Ms. Bagshot's house. She's a dear, in my eyes. With all her books on magic and history, it's amazing! There's whole bookshelves full of history, magic and interesting facts, it'll take someone years to read all of them.

I guess you could say she started me on the road to reading. All I know is that I'd go through a book a week, and then I'd be back for more. Once she said, in that warm voice of hers, "James Potter, if you manage to finish all of these books, I will have a surprise for you." That simple sentence got me hooked on reading.

It was on a day when I took a book from the Bagshot personal library and I was walking home, that I had my first experience with magic. I was walking down the dusty road. It was the start of summer and many children were out, playing in the street. In a second, I found myself cornered by a group of boys.

I am lucky, someone was watching over me. Maybe it was when they took my book away from me and stamped on it, or when they hoisted me up by the ankles and shook me till my teeth rattled. It was then when I felt that warm feeling in my gut, bursting with energy and life. There was a flash and a bang, and I found myself lying on top of a heap of unconscious people.

Then I ran, I ran like I never ran before. I was terrified, what if the Ministry was after me? Mother never mentioned my magic to me, so I had no idea how the Ministry of Magic worked. I only knew Father worked there. The front door of the house was open, so I burst through.

Mother was there and when she saw me, I forgot everything and wrapped my arms around her. Something was up, I could tell. I felt tears prickling the back of my shirt as I held her there. We ended up on the couch, my Mother and I, still holding each other as if we would break.

So how can one day change your life? A minute? A tenth of a second? If I hadn't gone to Bathilda's, if I hadn't listened at the door, if I hadn't ran straight to my house. But I was there, clinging on to my dear Mother till the end of time.

After a few calming breaths she let go and hoisted her problem onto my shoulders gently. "Your father...got injured at work today."

I found myself whispering, "How?"

"He...He was with them Department of Magical Catastrophes personnel and they were in an old house. They went inside...there was...was a-an ancient...rune in the...home and your father..." She began her crying again. "It...it hit your father on th-the-the chest...he's...he's in a...c-coma...."

At that point, all my doubts of Mother's love for Father vanished like the early morning dew on grass.

And my world, with its incompletion and carefree child-like tendencies, with its books of magic and history and its memories of broomsticks and tree-shaped cookies, came falling down on me.

I doubt I was ever the same.

**3.**

Prankster. Good-for-nothing brat. Practical Joker. Sly Snake.

Everyone knows me by those nicknames. Who is James Potter? Who is the 11-year old boy who likes books?

Gone, destroyed by the tidalwave known as Life.

I must live up to these expectations. I will become a prankster, a good-for-nothing brat. I will become their practical joker, the baker's sly snake. I will let them tear the person who I thought I was apart.

I must look like a juvenile tragedy to Mother. Everyday she goes and visits Father. He doesn't know what's going. He doesn't move, doesn't ruffle my hair. He doesn't tell me how to improve on my flying. He is marble, a stone set in time.

Mother's falling farther and farther away from me. Sometimes I see her looking at me, with this sad little smile on her face. I think I remind her of Father.

I came that night, from my latest prank, to find Mother reading a letter on the couch. We rarely get any letters, because Grandmama and Grandpapa are out in West Indies, out exploring according to Mother. Her hazel eyes were attentive, scanning the parchment as though one small detail could be the key to the whole letter.

Its then that she notices my presence in the room. She get up, and I see that she looks frail and unsure. This isn't like her at all. I frown, I know something's going on.

"Mother?"

She moves gracefully to me and gives me a hug. This is unexpected. "James?"

No one remembers this James except for her. I look at her. "Yes?"

"How would you like to go to Hogwarts?"

Just think, I was worrying about the cottage in Wales two weeks ago.

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A/N.: It won't be as sad as I make it out to be. It'll be better, with humor and adventure in it. I just need something that will give me a reason for the way James acts.


	2. The Hogwarts Express

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the Marauders sadly...*sobs uncontrollably*

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The Marauders' Adventures: Year One

And when it rains on this side of town,  
It touches everything.  
Just say it again and mean it,  
We don't miss a thing,  
You made yourself a bed at the bottom  
of the blackest hole,  
and convinced yourself  
that it's not the reason you don't see the sun anymore.

~When It Rains, Paramore

**4.**

The smoke billowing from the Hogwarts Express almost reminds me of that old baker, with his big house. It has an old chimney which is always billowing out smoke. People rush back and forth. A multitude of owls are hooting, cats are mewling and toads are croaking. Mother grips my arm tightly, as if she's afraid I would go missing in the crowd.

Mother and I finished my Hogwarts shopping two days ago. In the trolley, I have my trunk and a new owl. He's a barn owl, the only owl that nobody wanted to have. I named him Spero. Father is still in a coma, but the Ministry still pays him. Even with that, Mother's now working with Madam Malkins everyday in Diagon Alley. I got free robes because of this.

There's a family of four next to us, all of them have flaming red hair. There's another family of four on the other side of us, and they all have black hair. I look at Mother. She has light brown hair, and I have unruly black hair. I feel unique for one second.

Mother gets down on her knees and takes both of my hands in hers. I feel like a little kid again. "Now, James, I want you to do the best you can do at Hogwarts. I want you to prove to everyone who you are. Can you do that for me?"

Instead of using the words, "Your Father and I....Are you fine with that?", she now uses the sentence, "Can you do that for me?" I know she's being strong for the both of us.

"Yes, Mother. I can do that for you." I say, letting a smile break through. I can do that for her. I will make myself a different face for Hogwarts. No one knows who I am here, no one knows what happened three weeks ago and no one cares. I can do that.

Mother smiles and wipes her eyes, which are starting to cry. "Now be a good boy and make us proud." She doesn't say Father. She hasn't said that word for a while now. But I know who she's talking about. "I know you can do it, James." I admire Mother's faith in me. For a shining moment, she's Mother again, the mother she was three weeks ago, before that fateful day.

Then it fades away, and I see her frailty, the dullness in her eyes, which are watery all the time and I know her resolve is waivering. It's me who takes her hands in mine. "Be strong, Mother."

"I will. I will, James." she says very quietly. I give her a peck on the cheek and steer my trolley towards the train. I won't even think of asking Mother to put my trolley in the train for me. She is much too fragile.

Someone steps in front of me. It's a boy from the flaming red hair family. He has a gold badge on his sweater, with the words 'Prefect' imprinted on it. "Need any help?" he asks, and I see brilliant white teeth. He is smiling.

"Sure," I say nonchalantly, letting him take my trunk into the train. I follow him, bringing Spero on the train with me.

I'm glad I asked him for help, because people around me were walking to and fro. I was pretty sure they were going to their friends after two months of vacation. The boy with flaming red hair puts my trunk in a compartment and says to me, "Sorry, but I have to go." He's turning red, just like his hair.

"What's your name?" I ask before I even realize what I'm saying.

"I'm Arthur Weasley," he says brightly, shaking my hand. "What's yours?"

"James Potter," I say, happy that he doesn't live in Godric's Hollow. But his overly red face suddenly turns pale. "You're J-James Potter? Son of the famous Auror Potter?"

I nod, feeling weak in the knees. A question is now buzzing in my head: How many people know me?

"My condolences," he says, giving me a pat on the back. Before I could turn around, he is already in another compartment.

And I turn around to go into the compartment. I look around. It's empty except for two people, a boy and a girl my age. I sit down next to the girl.

The two of them are already in a conversation. I can tell the girl was crying.

The compartment door slides opens and a boy with hair as dark as mine leaps into the seat.

"Hey," he says, grinning like a wild dog.

I clear my throat and force myself to smile. "Hi." We stay like this in silence. The two people sitting next to us are talking.

"Do you know what house you'll be in?" a boy with greasy hair asks the girl, who slowly shakes her head.

He straightens and smiles wistfully. "I'm going to be in Slytherin."

Slytherin? I remember one time when my Father came home and said some vile things about Slytherins. He said that they were always up to no good and he told me that once someone goes to Slytherin, they almost always turn bad.

I turn to the boy sitting in front of me. "I think I'd rather go home instead of being in Slytherin. What do you think?"

The boy turns sullen, so quickly that I blink. "My whole family's in Slytherin."

"I'm gonna be in Gryffindor, 'where dwell the brave at heart'" I said, trying to cheer up the moody boy. He grins, and it seems to work, but...

"So you'd rather be brawny than brainy?" The boy with greasy hair says, leering at me. I move back, a bit disgusted. I swear I saw a mothball come out of the back of his slimy head.

The other boy pipes up and says, "Where will you go, seeing as you're neither?" The first thing that comes to my mind is that the boy in front of me is witty, and I laugh so hard my sides burst. I haven't laughed this hard since...forever!

The girl stands up and I stare. Even though she was crying, she was very pretty, with her red hair, green eyes and freckles. She looked angry at us, so I shut up. "Come on, Severus," she says to the greasy boy, and together they get out of the compartment.

The dark-haired boy laughs, tripping Severus on his way out. "See ya, Snivellus!" He shuts the compartment door with a bang.

I look at him, a smile starting to form on my face. "What did you say your name was again?" I ask curiously, watching him fall back into the seat.

"I didn't," he grins suggestively, wiggling his black eyebrows, "Isn't that some muggle line they use down at one of their pubs?"

My eyebrow shoots up. "No, my Grandpapa used to say that to me all the time. I think he has problems with his memory." I clarify, making sure I didn't sound like a queer. I've seen what those boys in Godric's Hollow do to queers.

"Ah," he says in understanding. Without warning, he takes a Chocolate Frog from his sack sitting next to him, he wolfs it down.

"By nabe if Thiriouth Flamk," he says, between munches. I look at him, repulsed and amazed that he can actually say a sentence with a wriggling Chocolate Frog in his mouth. Was he trying to say something to me? He swallows the Frog whole, makes an audible gulp in his throat and looks at me.

"Sorry," he says nervously. His hand starts scratching the back of his head, like a nervous twitch. "I said my name's Sirius Black. What's yours?"

"I'm...I mean, um..." I was anxious all of a sudden. What if he acted just like the prefect, Arthur Weasley? Sirius is amused, I can tell just by looking at him that he's enjoying seeing me squirm. "Uh...um..."

"Lemme guess," Sirius says, taking out his wand from his pocket and twirling it in his fingers, "your parents dropped you as a child and now you have to wear a name tag just to remember your name, am I right?"

"NO! I'M JAMES POTTER, DAMMIT!" I didn't even realize I was yelling. Sirius stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Relax man, the whole train can hear you."

Crap. "Sorry," I give him a smile and sit back down. He looks so serious right now.

And then he ruins his look by grinning like a psychotic killer. "So, you're a Potter, eh?" Again he twirls his wand in his fingers. "Any relation to Beatrix Potter?"

"You're a Black, right?" I shot back, smirking. "And who the hell is Beatrix Potter?"

"Never mind," he mutters, sniggering like a maniac, "I'm not _supposed_ to know who that is. I'm pureblood, you see."

"Me too." Beatrix Potter must be a muggle. The grin on my face keeps getting bigger and bigger.

In my opinion, this person named Sirius Black's turning out to be even more interesting by the minute.

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A/N.: I don't care if no one's reviewing. They can go crazy for all I care.


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